


I Didn't Know I Was Looking for Love Until I Found You

by s17



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017), Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types, Call Me by Your Name - André Aciman
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Eventual Smut, Fluff and Angst, M/M, New York City
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-09-23
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:07:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 14,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24134059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/s17/pseuds/s17
Summary: Oliver knows as soon as he returns to New York that Elio is it for him. Being his usual stubborn self, he truly believes Elio is better off without him. That is until he’s back in Italy the next summer and sees what could have been and what can be if he just admits to himself that maybe, just maybe, he and Elio are meant to be together.Or the one where Oliver has some things to work through, Elio only wants to do life by his side, and they both end up in New York City.Alternating POVs.
Relationships: Oliver & Elio Perlman, Oliver/Elio Perlman
Comments: 105
Kudos: 222





	1. And you my love are gone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I’ve been putting off posting this for a while as it’s my first fanfic, but I’ve had the idea for some time now and figured I might as well put it out there. This story takes place as if CMBYN happened in the present day. It won’t have a huge effect on anything, but I figured it was worth mentioning.
> 
> We start out with some Oliver backstory and Oliver trying to steal Elio’s place as number one drama queen.
> 
> The chapter title comes from "The Chain" by Ingrid Michaelson which is a lovely song and I recommend listening to the live version from Webster Hall.

I had never been filled with as much dread as I was when I touched down in New York after my flight from Italy. Between family vacations growing up and research for academia, traveling was somewhat of a constant throughout my life. There had always been a sense of relief; a sigh of certainty when I felt the tires hit the tarmac and my body sensed it was home.

This time had been different.

It was as if I had left myself on the platform at the train station in Bergamo. I was still there, still in his arms with my nose buried in his curls. I was there and my empty body traveled on its own back to New York. Back to a reality I no longer wished to face.

I had done my best to avoid anyone the first two weeks after my arrival much to my friends’ confusion. I had needed time to myself, first to try and distract myself from thinking any of the thoughts running through my brain and then to finally be mature and process each and every one of them.

I had come up with easy excuses not to see my friends. I was still dealing with jetlag, I had come down with a cold from the flight back, I still needed to unpack my things. Although curious to hear of my dreamy summer in the Italian countryside, they had easily accepted them. However, being tired or catching a small cold from traveling wasn’t something that would keep Laura away from me.

Laura had grown up in the same town as I and attended the sister school to the private academy I went to for high school. Like an old cliché, our parents were friends, frequently inviting each other over for Shabbat dinners or summer barbecues. It only made sense to them that Laura and I would fit together like a perfect pair.

Maybe for a little bit, we did. When Laura and her younger sister had first come over to my childhood home all those years ago, I had secretly welcomed their presence. My older sister Hannah had already left for college and I missed her dearly. Laura reminded me of Hannah, sharp and witty but always bearing a smile. She was a firecracker, and easily rebutted my challenges like a steady volley in a tennis match.

It was an expectation of my parents for me to follow in the usual family footsteps and attend Harvard. To follow in the footsteps’ of my father, and my grandfather before him, and even my sisters. But when I opened my acceptance letter to New York University, I knew that was it for me.

One would have thought World War III erupted in my household when I let my parents know I had planned to study Classics at NYU. I had never been exceptionally close with either of my parents, always two steps behind my sister in their eyes, and the one they had to worry about rebelling. This was the final straw for my dad, but my mom tried to convince him that even though NYU wasn’t part of the plan, Laura would be at Princeton, and maybe the proximity of NYU to Princeton was for the better.

Laura was my lifeline to what was left of my connection with my family. Once I moved to New York, communication was scarce between my parents and me, but I would occasionally see them when I would stay with Laura’s family for holidays. I knew ending things with her would be cutting them out of my life for good.

When I first arrived back in New York, I had tried to think of Laura, of her petite but curvy body. Her short, golden hair. She was objectively attractive. Wide and bright blue eyes, upturned nose, and a dazzling smile.

But I couldn’t think of her, picture her face, without seeing flickers of dotted freckles on Italian sun-kissed skin. Bright red, chapped lips from nervous biting. All-encompassing green eyes, staring into mine.

I couldn’t think of anyone or anything anymore without thinking of Elio.

The first month had been the most difficult, as I tried to avoid the reality that was my New York life. I hadn’t realized at the time, but staying with the Perlman’s had allowed me to express the Oliver closest to whom I truly was. Still refined, still playing a part of the la muvi star as they had joked. And yet, it was not far off from who I really was. Not like the fraudulent version of myself I projected to my friends in New York. Not like the farce that held Laura in my arms while thinking of someone an ocean away.

When the school year started back up again, my usual routine helped me fall back into playing my New York-Oliver role. I began to see my friends again, closing out bars on Saturday night with our rowdy conversations and constant flow of beer. Laura had sensed something was off when I had first returned, but seemed pleased with my inevitable return to normality. She had drummed it all up to some jetlag. She couldn’t have been more wrong.

She couldn’t have known I had fallen in love with someone else. A man. My Elio.

My Oliver.

She couldn’t have known that the nape of his neck, pearl-like and sweaty after sex was the last thing I thought about before I finally turned to sleep. That it was his face I pictured when I brought her to bed.

That it took everything in me not to call out my own name when I was inside of her.

And yet, as engrained as Elio was in my mind, my heart, my very own blood, I knew I had to let him go. He might be it for me, but Elio had everything in front of him.

Upon my return, we spoke on the phone constantly. During our calls, I felt revived, energized, and excited. I listened with enthusiasm as Elio told me about his preparation for his university auditions. About his debates over how to transcribe a piece he was struggling with. What style he wanted it to mimic, what composer he wanted to base it on. In turn, I told him about my lessons at Columbia. My train of thought when coming up with certain prompts for my students. I’d bashfully pass along a response from a student that really resonated with me when I felt my students were finally getting it. Elio contributed to the conversation, offering to my contemplation over what literature to assign for the Selections from Greek Literature course I was already planning for next semester.

The second I would hang up the phone however, it was like all of that vitality seeped out of my pores into a puddle on the floor and I couldn’t seem to keep ahold of it. Talking to Elio was like coming alive and dying at the same time.

These phone calls started out frequent and would usually only end when one of us was finally persuaded by an outside force, Mafalda calling him to dinner or Laura calling my name, snapping me out of the blissful serenity that Elio brought to me.

As fall quickly morphed into winter and it was not Elio’s but Laura’s arms cozying around me in our bed in our apartment, I couldn’t keep up with the occurrence of these conversations. I needed to let him go. Let him bloom into the man he was, without attachments to me, to the past, and to all of the things I could never give him.

It happened in a haze after the Thanksgiving dinner conversation at Laura’s family home zeroed in on our relationship. Before we left to drive back to New York, I found myself sitting in her father’s study not asking, and yet receiving his blessing to engage to Laura.

“Do you mind?” I had asked. I am not sure why I had phrased it that way. Perhaps because I minded. Because letting him go was letting go of the only real version I had of myself.

I believed that letting him go was setting him free, even if it dammed me to a lifetime of desolation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's chapter 1! Next, we'll see how Elio is holding up. Comments are much appreciated or even a kudo just so I know someone is out there reading this!


	2. Moving on is the hardest part

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're back! Thank you SO much to everyone who left a kudo or a comment! I didn't think anyone would read this fic, so I am truly grateful for the support.
> 
> This chapter is from Elio's POV. I know there is a somewhat slow build, but I felt it was important to create a foundation for both of them. Soon enough the boys will be together again and once that happens, nothing can keep them apart.

“So, what do you think of him?” Marzia questioned, nodding back at Alessandro, the boy she had begun talking to a few weeks ago. We had just finished a game of tennis with him and his brother and they were barely out of earshot when she immediately asked for my approval.

I smiled to myself thinking about the strange evolution of our friendship, Marzia and I. How we could go from friends to lovers to friends again, even to the point of her asking me what I thought about the boy she was pinning after.

After Oliver returned to New York, I threw myself into my relationship with Marzia. One day towards as that fateful summer neared its end and fall was making its presence known, I showed up to Marzia’s villa with a bouquet of flowers.

“What’s this?” she had asked, tilting her head a bit, giving a strange look at the bouquet. I shrugged, responding that they were flowers for her, unclear why she was questioning the gesture.

“You would have never gotten Oliver flowers,” she had stated simply, placing the bouquet down beside where we sat in the shady area of grass behind her parents’ villa.

“You would have never gotten Oliver flowers,” she continued, and I was silent, unsure of where she was going with this newfound finding, “You didn’t need to give him physical things, gifts or tokens of admiration. You shared your thoughts, your ideas, your favorites lines from your favorite books.”

I stared at her as she stared off into the distance, waiting for her to continue. I hadn’t even realized I was holding my breath until I let it out as she spoke again, turning to face me.

“You’re giving me these flowers instead of giving me _you_ , Elio.” And with that, she laid back down in the grass, closing her eyes. A pleasant hum escaped her lips as she let her body relax in the sticky summer heat.

Marzia had shared her observation, and with it, any remnants of our sexual relationship dissipated. Until then, I hadn’t been able to admit to myself that I was still grieving the loss of Oliver. I had thrown myself at Marzia in his absence, desperate for a distraction, and not taking into account her feelings or even mine.

Marzia, so often overlooked and viewed quite plainly by most, had known exactly what to say. Exactly how to nudge me into allowing myself time to heal and to process. To grieve.

Even now almost a year later, as the trees were once again in bloom and the spring air filled each and every little corner of Crema, I missed him. Missed the feeling of his hand against the flat of my back, the way his chest slowly rose up and down with my head upon it. Missed hearing about his day and his students through the static of the phone, the excitement in his voice when sharing things with me. Just me. Only me.

As much as I tried to let it all go, let him go, my mind had other plans. Accepting my spot for the upcoming year at Julliard felt like accepting my fate to be eternally dammed. To volunteer myself to be in the same city as Oliver for four years, knowing well enough that I wouldn’t be with him.

It was almost too much.

Countless restless nights were spent lying in bed, the same bed he once kept warm, trying to convince myself to pick any other school. Accademia Nazionale di Santa Cecilia was an amazing option and I had been lucky enough to also be accepted into their program. Closer to home, to my family, and my friends.

And yet, even the villa was filled, every crevice, with remnants of him. No matter my decision, there was no escaping him.

When I had heard the news of Oliver’s engagement, I had immediately closed up, like a shop being bordering up to outlast an oncoming storm. I held back a sob as I asked my parents, pleaded with them to keep any information about him to themselves.

I couldn’t hear his name. My Oliver.

My Elio.

Despite my efforts to push him to the back of my mind, stash him somewhere between my knowledge of Heraclitus to keep him company, I couldn’t help but smile when my parents had let me known our summer doctoral candidate had called off their trip last minute.

I immediately felt relief wash over me, which I knew deep down was contributed by my need for no one to replace Oliver. Not that anyone could, but the thought of enduring dinner drudgery with anyone else in the muggy summer heat, the thought of anyone else taking over my room for those six weeks, the thought of someone sitting in our _heaven_ going through their papers, writing and re-writing until near perfection marked the papers, made me sick.

One night after hearing the news of Oliver’s engagement, when the wind whipped against the old walls of the villa and the lights flickered against the chilled air, I sat aside papa staring into the fire, looking for answers somewhere in the flames.

We had sat in silence for what seemed like an eternity and when papa finally rose off the couch with a yawn, folding closed the worn book he had been reading. As he walked out of the room he turned to me, giving me a look that I thought only a man who had been in my shoes could convey. A look that said,

“If there is pain, nurse it.”

In the months that followed, I did my best to do just that. I poured myself into my music and my auditions, into my books, into myself.

When I finally accepted my invitation to Julliard, papa gave me a knowing smile. A proud smile.

Perhaps I would never get over Oliver. Perhaps I didn’t want to. But I would learn to live with the memories of him, the memories of his flashing smile when I wittily retorted to something he said, the memories of a cool night’s breeze brushing against our backs as we sat intertwined on the rock outside the villa, the memories of him so deep inside me I would have sworn we were one entity.

And if I was ever lucky enough to feel for someone else just a fraction of the way I felt for him, perhaps that would be enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's chapter 2! Please let me know what you thought in the comments. The next chapter should be up within the week and the boys finally reunite after a year.


	3. The landscape reminds me of you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again to everyone who left a comment or a kudo! This chapter felt like it could have possibly been broken into two, but I wanted to get the ball rolling so I decided to just leave it as one long chapter. 
> 
> We're back with Oliver's POV.

It felt as if the entirety of my being was alit, completely engulfed in flames as I pushed myself to the ninth mile of my run. Despite the breeze running off the Hudson River, the June heat was sweltering. I could feel droplets of sweat pooling on my back, seeping through my t-shirt. The sharp, almost snapping pain in my achilles begged me to stop.

I couldn’t stop.

I needed to feel this physical pain, desperate for something bodily to focus on. Anything to keep my mind preoccupied, to keep it from lingering to the phone call I had a few days prior.

When I had picked up my phone, muttering a weak hello into the receiver, I hadn’t even bothered to check the caller I.D.

Samuel’s cheery voice greeted me on the other end, opening up with eager questions on how I was doing and what I was up to. We spoke often, usually at least once a month to catch up, sharing new findings, or offering reading recommendations. While I knew he appreciated our phone calls for their academic value, I also knew Samuel liked to check up on me.

It had only been a few months earlier that I phoned him late at night, in such a frantic haze that I didn’t realize what I was doing until I heard his voice on the other end of the line asking if I was okay. That night had been the first time I let myself breakdown after I had called off the engagement, and I wept over the phone, not saying much of anything but finding a certain solace knowing Samuel was on the other end of the line.

Even now, I’m still uncertain what exactly I was crying over. Was I mourning the loss of a life that had been so meticulously planned by others for twenty-five years? A life, that even though undesirable to me, held the key to a stable future? Perhaps it was because of the disappointed, icy stare my father had given me when I told my parents the news. A stare that permeated my dreams and kept me awake at night. Or was it because no matter how hard I tried, I knew I only left destruction in my wake, hurting the ones I cared for most.

“I’m doing well, Pro,” I had told him, offering him some updates on the new book I was working on. We chatted back and forth, almost idly, until he mentioned what he had clearly called about in the first place.

“Well, if you’re planning on working on your book this summer, why not do it here in Crema?” he continued on, explaining how this summer’s candidate had dropped out last minute and Annella and he would be more than happy to open up their home, their lives, again to me.

His proposition had caused my brain to swirl with so many thoughts; I could barely utter a response back to him, prompting him to ask if I was still on the line.

Knowingly, and with a tone I could picture in my mind, picture him smiling against the phone as he spoke, he offered,

“I think it would help both of you if you spoke.”

He didn’t need to say more and I managed to mutter out to him that I would think about it. I hung up and slid down the wall I didn’t even know I was bracing myself against.

It had been days, and yet I hadn’t let myself think about the phone call, terrified of allowing myself even a glimmer of hope that I could possibly see Elio again.

I wanted to call Samuel back and let him know I would catch the next flight to Italy, leave everything I had in New York behind if it meant I could spend even an hour next to Elio. If I could feel the warmth of the sun-soaked grass outside of the villa radiate through my shorts and up through my spine as we sat together in heaven. Just the two of us together; not speaking, just being.

I had made a promise to myself, a promise to Elio, that even if I couldn’t let him go, I wouldn’t hold him back. He had everything in front of him. And yet, his father’s suggestion rang through my head like a bell pushed around on a windy day.  
As I slowed down my pace, heading back to my apartment I took into consideration that Samuel would never do something to hurt Elio. So why would he suggest that I come?

After a shower, with my towel wrapped around my hips, I sat in front of my computer curiously looking at flights. It was certainly true that I would get far more work done lounging outside the villa, especially with Samuel’s input, than I would in my cramped apartment. I had yet to call the heating and cooling company about my broken air conditioner and in turn, the constant noise of the city’s ever-present liveliness flooded into my apartment at all times.

I could make myself scarce at the villa. Head into town during dinner, stay around to play poker until late and be up early in the morning, already outside working on my writing and out of the way before Elio even woke up.

Perhaps Samuel invited me because Elio had moved on so completely, it wouldn’t even bother him to see me. The thought of this caused such an ache in my heart that I felt dizzy, and yet I hoped it was the case. I wanted more than anything else for Elio to be happy.

* * *

I knew there was no turning back the second I stepped out of Malpensa Airport and into the muggy heat of Italy. My first thought was to turn back. Turn back and catch the next flight to New York and never think about Italy or Crema or last summer ever again. Turn back and return to my hot and sticky apartment, to Riverside Park, and my favorite bagel shop a few blocks from my apartment. But I had made my decision, and the delight in Samuel’s voice when I let him know I would take him up on his offer kept me going.

Despite my pleading to just take a taxi, the Perlman’s had sent Anchise to pick me up from the airport and I found him waiting curbside. The windows of the car were rolled down and a cigarette in his mouth. He didn’t get out to take my bag or haul it into the trunk, but he offered me a toothy smile and a “Buongiorno Americano” as I hopped in the passenger seat.

As I stared out the window, the rolling hills of the Italian countryside blurred together with my memories of last summer. The vast green landscape had spanned around us as we biked into town on the old dirt road, but the only thing I had absorbed was the hint of a smile Elio would throw me as he quickly turned his head back to make sure I was still following him. I had overlooked the landscape last summer with its undulating knolls and garish foliage. Elio had been my landscape to admire; to feel every rise and fall, every curve of his slight, smooth body under my hands. That was the Italian landscape I had come to know and love.

I couldn’t decide if the hour-long drive from Malpensa to Crema felt like it lasted a thousand years or five seconds, but soon enough Anchise was pulling onto the gravel driveway leading up to the villa. I could have sworn my heart stopped beating for a few moments as he put the car in park and the front door of the house swung open.

Samuel bounded towards me with a smile so large, I instantly felt calm. Was this the effect fathers were supposed to have on their sons? To produce a feeling of comfort and protection? I didn’t think of it often, but Samuel was the closet thing to a parent figure that I had. Accepting his invitation to once again stay at the villa was like accepting that somewhere out there, someone loved me for who I truly was and wanted me near.

Annella followed behind him, her effortless beauty apparent as ever. A small smile played on her lips and my concern that she would resent me for leaving her son the way I did dissipated. Last summer, I had felt she was shrouded in mystery; so juxtaposed was she from her boisterous husband. Her sharp yet laissez-faire attitude was sometimes hard to read, but her quick, witty remarks pointed at guests during dinner drudgery held so much of Elio that I instantly took a liking to her.

“La muvi star, back in Italy!” Samuel exclaimed as he wrapped his arms around me in a bear hug. I insisted on carrying my bags as I was of course acquainted with the house already and knew where to carry them up to.

“You can place your things in the room next to Elio’s,” Annella offered as we walked up the path towards the front door. They hadn’t asked Elio to move out of his room as they had done last summer and although I wouldn’t have wanted them to do that, something hit me so suddenly, I could hear the gust of air leave my body.

“You didn’t tell him I was coming, did you?” I questioned slowly, hesitating to walk through the front entrance of the villa. I looked between Samuel and Annella and gaging by their reactions, I was right. I wasn’t sure why I was so taken aback, but I suddenly felt like an intruder, shoving my way back into Elio’s life without his say.

“He’s out with Marzia right now, but we told him to be back for dinner,” Samuel said with a shrug. I had almost forgotten about Marzia. Maybe Elio had found his happiness with her. While she had been quite unassuming, she was sweet and kind and could give Elio so much more than I could.

I was taken out of my thoughts as Samuel added, “You and Elio can talk later.” It wasn’t a suggestion. It was a gentle, yet convincing command. A reminder that I had explaining to do. That I owed Elio an explanation. An explanation for leaving him, for asking if he minded my engagement, an explanation of how that said engagement was no longer in existence, and an explanation for all of my later.

What had I gotten myself into?

I repeated this question over and over in my head as I hung up my clothing in the closet of the guest room, unpacking all of my belongings in a ruse to keep myself occupied. I spread out my notebook and pencils on the old mahogany desk pushed up against the large French windows, wiping the dust from the edges of the green leather desk pad.

I hastily showered, wanting to be sure I was out by the time Elio was home just in case he might need the shared bathroom. As I slipped on a navy t-shirt, I took in the scent of my laundry detergent and smiled fondly at the idea that when I returned to New York, it would smell like the chamomile cleaner Mafalda used.

I turned towards the door, ready to head down for dinner. “No one but us for tonight,” Samuel had said earlier. But before I could reach for the knob the door flew open with such force, it bounced off the old wooden wall behind it and I jumped back at the loud bang that vibrated from the contact of wood on wood.

Elio stood in front of me, green eyes wide and red lips slightly parted. He looked beautiful. Even more beautiful than he had looked when my eyes drank him in on our last morning in Bergamo as he lay peacefully, still asleep. I didn’t think it was possible for him to look even more beautiful, but here he stood in front of me, presenting himself with a casual yet ethereal radiance that should have only belonged to a dreamt up creation.

His hair was longer and his curls were tousled, most likely from running his hands through it anxiously all day, as I knew he had a habit of doing. I used to be the one to tousle his hair. I used to be the one to know him. And yet here we were.

“I knew it,” he said in a quiet, yet accusatory tone, “I thought of it, you know? I thought of it when they said they weren’t choosing another student to stay with us after the first one dropped out. But papa has someone come every summer. Every summer an usurper comes. They come and they enter our lives for six weeks, they blend into our family, into our routines, and then more likely than not, we never see them again. Why would this summer be any different?” He harshly spit out the end of his statement and yet it sounded so broken, all I wanted to do was wrap him up in my arms. Wrap him up in my arms and protect him from people like me.

As I stared back at him, the silence stretching between us was so deafening I felt like a numbness course through my body and all I could only muster out, without thinking was a quiet,

“I’ve missed you.”

I broke our eye contact before he could catch a glimpse of everything behind my eyes. Everything that would show him exactly what I meant when I said I missed him. I stared down at my feet, completely ashamed that within the first day of crashing back into his life, I broke the very promise I had made a year ago. The promise to not let my feelings interfere with his future. The promise to let him move on from me and live his life to the fullest, something I was so convinced he could never do tied down to me. I was about to apologize when I heard the faintest,

“I’ve missed you, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 3 is done! It won't be all peaches and roses right away, but I'm excited to finally have the boys back in the same city. Please let me know what you think!


	4. Where do we go from here

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank everyone who left a comment or a kudo! I know I keep saying this, but it means the world to me. I wanted to get this chapter up sooner, but I was having a hard time concentrating on writing with so much going on in the world. I hope everyone is doing alright given the hard times going on right now!
> 
> Elio's POV.

My parents gave me a stern look when I stuttered out how I had last-minute plans and would be skipping dinner, but they let me stumble out of the villa even so. They had been in on this secret, anyway. They knew Oliver was coming and they hadn’t let me know. Didn’t give me time to prepare, to compose my thoughts.

I took my time walking over to Marzia’s villa and when her dad called her downstairs, announcing I was at the door, I had quietly asked if I could sit in her garden under the willow tree we loved to lounge beneath. She nodded and when she didn’t try to follow me I thought about what a mess I must have looked like that she so clearly knew I needed to be alone.

As I lay in the grass, I tried to steady my breath. Oliver was in Crema. Oliver, who I had spent the better part of a year so desperately trying to move on from, was staying at my home again. He had returned to the place where I first fell in love with him and everyone had known but me.

When he had said he missed me, my heart jumped. His voice was possibly deeper than it had been last summer and it had filled the room so fully that his presence took over everything. I had fallen in love with that voice, educated and confident as it quipped back at me in debates, so lively as it conversed with my family, and so comforting, feeling like home, as it quietly lulled me to sleep.

While so many emotions flooded my mind, I could only focus on my confusion. I knew that while I had asked my parents to keep any news of Oliver from me, they still talked to him frequently. Had I done such a good job acting as if I was really over him that they thought it a good idea to invite him back to the villa? Oh gosh, would his fiancée be joining us? Just the idea of her coming to the villa, entering the sacred space where everything was filled with so much of us, made me gasp for air.

I must have been lost in my thoughts for at least an hour when I heard the grass rustle next to me. Even with my eyes still closed, I felt Marzia’s presence as she lowered herself down next to me.

“Tu veux en parler?” she asked gently as if to remind me that I could talk to her about anything. When I finally opened my eyes, I found a worried expression on her face. Marzia constantly joked about my dramatic character, normally after I threw myself on the leather couch in her living room and vented about how I couldn’t get the piece I was currently practicing just right or how the local bookstore still didn’t have the copy of the book I had been trying to buy. She could tell now, however, that whatever I was wrapped up in was serious and I felt lucky to have her next to me, offering me an ear to talk to.

I wanted to tell her about how stupid I felt that I hadn't seen all the signs that my parents had invited him or about how he was the first one to express that he missed me. I needed to get off my chest that I didn’t know how I could be in the same vicinity as him and his fiancée if she came and that the thought of seeing them together would surely kill me. But I was too tired to express everything, too worn-out to exhibit my vulnerability. So I settled on a simple,

“Oliver is here.”

Even saying those words and fully acknowledging his arrival took the air out of my lungs. Marzia put her hand on my arm, offering a small ounce of comfort, knowing that there wasn’t much to say about the situation. We sat in silence as the sun went down and the hot air pooled around our bodies.

* * *

By the time I returned to the villa it was dark outside and the hum of the cicadas trickled through the open windows of the house. I tiptoed up the steps, trying to be as quiet as possible despite the creak of the old floorboards underneath my feet.

As I entered my room, I could see his silhouette through the still-open curtains of the french windows. He was staring out into the distance, a cigarette in hand. It had occurred to me that I might find him here and in an almost magnetized way, I found myself drawn to meet him. And so I did.

He didn’t turn to face me as I stepped out onto the balcony. He resided on one end and I on the other. Even though it was only a few feet, the distance felt insurmountable. How could a year put so much distance between what was once two souls combined in one?

“I owe you an explanation,” Oliver said quietly, still facing away from me. He put out his cigarette in the ashtray balanced on the railing of the balcony. With a sigh, he added, “Honestly, I owe you so much more than just an explanation. I owe you more than I could ever give you.” And before I even registered my actions, I had my arm on his, forcing him to face me.

“We can start with an explanation,” I said gently, trying to get his gaze to match mine, desperate for him to just look at me. “And maybe an apology as well?” I could tell from his body language that he was taken aback by my openness, not knowing that I had spent the day mulling over all the possibilities of how the two of us could move forward.

When he finally met my eyes, it was like seeing a completely different person. He had never looked so young, so uncertain. Even last summer, when he let down his guard, let down the overly assured persona he portrayed to everyone else, he still had a silent confidence about him that I was always drawn to. The man in front of me couldn’t have appeared more different from this, standing with his shoulders hunched and his brow wrinkled. He seemed broken in a way, and despite everything he had put me through, I wanted to put every shattered piece back into the right place.

“Look Elio, I don’t even know where to start. Let me start by saying that I'm sorry. It feels stupid to even say that, as if it even means anything or could fix anything,” I wanted to cut him off and tell him, the way that papa told me, that an apology always meant something. However, I felt stuck in place, seemingly unable to move or speak as my brain processed the words coming out of his mouth, “I know you’ve moved on from everything that happened between us and look, I’m glad that you did. But I want you to know, I need you to know that I’m sorry.”

I nodded as he finished, still not quite able to speak. I nodded as he noted that I must have moved on. I nodded at his every word, afraid that anything I said would give me away. I knew that if I opened my mouth, everything would start tumbling out. My love for him. The fact that despite all of my efforts, I was most certainly not over him. How I still saw his face in my dreams at night and that the tears that wracked my body when I woke up to an empty bed were almost paralyzing.

As I lay in the grass outside Marzia’s villa, I had decided that even if the Oliver-labeled crack in my heart deepened each time I stood in his presence, having him in my life in any way that I could was better than not at all.

“Tell me about her,” I said when I could finally manage to speak, still looking into his eyes. Was there a masochistic part of me deep down that felt the need to hurt myself further? I wasn’t sure, but I knew that I needed to know who she was. I needed to know who filled the space that I was supposed to be in, sleeping with Oliver’s strong arms wrapped around them every night. I needed to know that she supported him, that she was just as invested in his happiness and success as I was. I needed to hear him talk about her with a genuine smile on his face, showing me that he was happy with her and that it was just me who still held on to what happened between us last summer.

I hadn’t realized that I was still holding his arm until he pulled it away from me so suddenly, almost as if I had burnt him. He seemed panicked, and I wondered if I had crossed a line. He scrubbed his hands over his face and paced back and forth. I held my breath. If anyone had a right to be frustrated it was me! There wasn’t exactly a rulebook for ex-lovers on how to act accordingly in one another’s company, but I was trying to be open with him, to harness any sort of connection we still had, and I yearned for him to do the same.

When he finally turned back towards me, the harrowing look on his face took me aback, and yet even the hint of his expression couldn’t have prepared me for what he said.

“I couldn’t do it, Elio. I’m not engaged.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry I'm leaving it like this, but I promise I will update soon! Please let me know what you think.


	5. You left me here with a broken heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost 100 kudos?! Are you guys kidding me?! A MASSIVE thank you to everyone who is reading!
> 
> I struggled with the writing tenses in this chapter and it's still not perfect. I will probably go back and edit it, but I wanted to get this chapter up for all of you.
> 
> We continue with Elio's POV.

“Elio, say something. Please, just say anything.”

I could only stare at his mouth where the words I couldn’t process had just escaped from. I was in a dreamlike state, faint and airy, and for a moment I stopped breathing. I tried to understand, to comprehend everything going on around me, and yet I was frozen in place.

Oliver wasn’t engaged. There was no woman in his bed at night, being held in his arms. No one sitting across from him at the dinner table, nodding along to a summary of his day. No one underneath him, with their lips pressed to his.

For months, I cried alone in my bed late at night until I ran out of tears and dry sobs racked my body. I tortured myself, imagining what she must look like, wondering if she had dark curls that matched mine. I lay in my bed for hours, staring at the forming spot of mold on my ceiling, unable to move as loneliness coursed through my body.

What did it all mean, now?

“I think I need to sit down,” was all I could manage as I stumbled back inside, not even shooing Oliver away as he followed me into my room. Sitting on the edge of my bed, hunched over with my head in my heads, I tried to process everything going on. Oliver stood silently against the wall, pleading eyes begging me to say something.

“I just, I don’t understand. You said you were getting engaged?” I spoke so slowly, annunciating every word. I must have sounded ridiculous, but my brain felt like it was going into overdrive. I stared up at him now, trying to find answers on his face. What game was he playing at, here?

“I know and I was engaged, but it never would have worked Elio. Laura and I were best friends,” he notices me wince at the mention of her name and his hands fidget against his side as he tries to find the right words, “We were good friends and we loved each other, sure, but not the way I realized I was supposed to.” My chest felt tight and I pushed the palms of my hands against my eyelids. This couldn’t be happening.

Such a varied range of emotions race through my body but I can only feel numb. I wasn’t sure how to process what was going on, wasn’t sure how to respond to this new realization. I wanted to be angry. I wanted to scream at Oliver, to make him feel the pain I had felt both when he left me and again when he had told me of his engagement.

And yet I also wondered what had happened. Had he had anyone to confide in? While a sense of betrayal by my parents was inevitable with all of this, I knew they were always there for me. It had been my father’s soft words that helped me through my heartbreak and my mother’s caressing hands wandering through my hair, distracting me from my loneliness as she read me passaged from The Heptameron when she knew I was down. Oliver didn’t speak of his family or friends much, but I could only guess he had handled most of this alone.

What had changed his mind? We loved each other, sure, but not the way I realized I was supposed to. I repeated his words over and over in my head before looking back up at him.

“What changed?” I asked, locking my eyes with his, green on blue. I could hear his breath hitch as he stared back at me, and he finally moved from his place against the wall, taking one step closer to me.

“You know exactly what changed,” he said, taking another step towards me, his legs brushing against my knees. He’s close now, so much so that I have to tilt my head up to keep our eye contact and I find in his eyes the confirmation that I’ve needed. For so long, I fought my feelings for him. Diminished them as idealistic and one-sided. I had spent so long thwarting away the what ifs that it almost made more sense to me that in a few moments, I’d wake up and find this entire conversation to be a dream.

I pat the space next to me, inviting Oliver to sit down. My feelings are everywhere and nowhere all at once, but I know I need to hear what he has to say. I’m not naïve and I can tell what he’s hinting at, that he’s held onto his feelings for me long enough to call off his engagement. But this doesn’t explain the silence or the distance. The bed dips as he sits beside me being sure to leave at least a small amount of space between us.

“No one has ever made me feel the way you do, Elio,” I make note of his use of the present tense, “No one understands me like you do. I don’t even think I understand myself as well as you do, but you have your entire life ahead of you, Elio. You’re young and-”

“I’m young and what, Oliver?” I feel a year's worth of pent up anger starting to bubble. This was all because I was too young? “I’m too young to understand my own feelings?”

“You know that’s not what I’m saying. I thought you would move on to the next person. You could have anyone.”

“Oh, so you thought you would what? Fuck me, let me fall in love with you, and then I would just whore off to the next available guy?” I don’t even realize my admittance of love until the words are already out of my mouth, but I’m angry, fuming, and the words just start stumbling out. “Well, you were wrong, Oliver. Because even after you left me, left me and got engaged to someone else, I still can’t get you out of my fucking head!” I start to stand up, but he grabs my arm.

“Don’t touch me.” I yank my arm away from him and almost feel bad when I see the sadness in his eyes.

“I’ll go.” He says, getting up from the bed. He walks towards the bathroom door and I almost laugh at the fact that Oliver is here in Italy, closer than he’s been to me since our final moments on the train platform, and with only a cramped bathroom separating the two of us, the distance still feels so expansive.

Oliver turns the old, glass doorknob and with his back to me I ask,

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he turns back around but doesn’t meet my gaze.

“Your parents said you didn’t want to talk to me.” I can’t help but roll my eyes at his cop-out. It’s a bullshit excuse and he knows it just as well as I do. If he had picked up the phone and said, “Oh by the way Elio, you know that engagement I asked if you minded? Well, I broke it off because of you,” I wouldn’t have hung up the phone.

“Right, you let my parents in on your dirty little secret and kept it from me. Because I’m too young and dumb to understand.” I can tell he’s getting frustrated with me and perhaps I am acting a little immature, but if that’s what he thinks of me, I might as well embrace it.

“It was so much more than just your age,” he starts, but I cut him off for the second time.

“Then explain it to me, Oliver! Why did you leave me?” my voice breaks on the word leave and all of the anger seeps out of my body. All of a sudden I’m incredibly tired. Too tired to fight with him.

He’s hesitant at first, but then he’s walking back toward me, closing the distance between us. He lies down on my bed, pulling me down with him. His strong arms wrap around me and my body goes limp at the familiar feeling of our chests pressed together. I don’t even realize I’m crying until his fingers wipe away the tears pooling under my eyes and I let myself go, sobbing into the crook of his neck, the chain of his Star of David pressing into my cheek. He draws me into him, lightly tracing patterns on my back to soothe me and I fall asleep to apologies whispered over and over again into my hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They have a long road ahead to complete understanding and healing, but you have to start somewhere. Please let me know what you think and thanks for reading!


	6. Persuasion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, I want to apologize for the delay! I’ve been having issues with my computer which has been making it very difficult to write. To make up for it though, this is the longest chapter so far!
> 
> As always, thank you for the comments and kudos! I appreciate them more than you know and they really motivate me to keep writing.
> 
> This chapter starts off with Oliver’s POV and then shifts to Elio. Also, there are references to Jewish concepts in this chapter. I've put explanations in the end notes.

The first thing I realized as I stirred awake was the numbness of my right arm. I jolted awake upon remembering the events of the night before. I hadn’t meant to fall asleep in Elio’s bed, just hold him enough to soothe him to sleep, but the exhaustion of the evening had taken its course.

I slipped out of the bed, careful not to wake him. Elio didn’t move an inch as I pulled my arm out from under him and I couldn’t help but smile. He was just as heavy a sleeper as last summer. I let my gaze linger on him for the first time since I had arrived at the villa. The pale length of his neck was brushed by tousled curls. Part of his face was pressed into the pillow, the other half revealing his lips parted slightly.

At that moment, as I allowed myself to take in all of him, I knew I would give up anything to be with Elio again.

The sun was just coming up, light slipping through the cracks between the curtains as I tip-toed quietly back into my room. I knew there was no use in trying to go back to sleep and so I went for my morning jog. The morning air was especially crisp for this time of the summer but it seemed quite fitting for the situation.

I recollected our conversation from the previous night. Elio was furious and rightfully so. I had been trying to protect him and in doing so, never gave him the chance to make his own decisions.

Had I truly been trying to protect him? Partially, but I was also trying to protect myself. When I left Italy last summer, I could have never imagined I’d be where I was now. I had spent so much of my life lying to myself, trying to convince myself I was complacent with my life. It wasn't that I didn't know I wasn't happy until I had met Elio, but I had never felt strong enough to challenge the restrictions put on every aspect of my life until he came into it.

In the past year, I had put everything on the line for my happiness; ending my engagement and in turn contact with my family. I had put everything on the line for the possible chance to be with Elio again. 

I knew that we needed to talk. I had to be honest with him. And yet, it felt as if we were from two separate worlds. Just looking around the villa, I reveled in the peaceful nature that he had grown up in, the air of acceptance and openness. How could he possibly understand where I was coming from? 

* * *

I worked under the shade of the trees beside the pool for most of the week. Finding the focus to write proved difficult as my mind wandered to Elio, and so I concentrated on editing my already penned drafts. My new book focused on connections between The Doctrine of Flux and the Unity of Opposites and the modern world. I couldn’t help but find the relevance of Heraclitus’ theories in my own life.

_No man ever steps in the same river twice, for it's not the same river and he's not the same man._

Even with drafts upon drafts written over the last several months, I had never taken a second to think of the connections between Heraclitus’ thoughts and my own, personal life. I had been so desperate for last summer, the villa, the dinner drudgeries, the long, lazy days beside the pool, Elio, to be frozen in time that I hadn’t thought that it would all be different upon my current return. 

Elio and I were not the same as we were last summer. Last summer had changed us and life had not stopped moving since. It was a new summer and no matter what the outcome of the previous night was, I would need to let him take his time to relearn me as I relearned him. 

* * *

(Elio's POV)

I had spent the majority of the week avoiding Oliver at all costs. Even when I was in his direct presence, when I could feel his eyes begging to meet mine from across the dinner table, I couldn’t bring myself to meet his gaze.

I wasn’t ready.

When I had woken up after our confrontation, the bed beside me empty, it felt as if everything had been a dream. In a way, our conversation had been a relief. I had finally let out everything I had been holding back over the past year. 

The shock of Oliver’s terminated engagement still felt fresh, but I was slowly coming to terms with the idea. Oliver was here, at the villa, and single. His subtle reasoning for their separation hadn’t fallen on deaf ears and I wasn’t daft. I knew it had to do with me. With us. 

While I had expelled so many of my pent up emotions, Oliver’s confession and the gravity of his feelings for me only created more confusion and questions. 

All week I had avoided him, processing every word he had spoken, overthinking every sentence he had confessed. It was painful to sit across the dinner table, barely able to look him in the eye, and remember how things were last summer. I missed the light brush of his bare foot, callused from walking on the hot pavement, against mine. When a guest staying for dinner with us one night had made an ignorant comment, it took everything in me not to turn to Oliver and share an eye roll.

A quote from Jane Austen’s _Persuasion_ plagued my thoughts as I tried to fall asleep one night.

_Now they were as strangers; nay, worse than strangers, for they could never become acquainted._

We could never go back to the way things were last summer, and yet, I felt such a strong need to find him again. We couldn’t learn each other for the first time, but we could reacquaint ourselves once again. Part of me couldn't bear the thought of flaying myself open just to be hurt again. And yet when he held me as I cried that night, I felt like I belonged. 

I remember my grandmother teaching me the concept of the soul when I was younger. She told me that in Judaism, the neshamah, or soul, is separated upon its descent to Earth. It only becomes whole again when it finds its other half. Its beshert. Soulmate. Even as tears pooled in my eyes, tears that he caused, feeling Oliver's arms around me the other night was the most complete I had felt since he left me. Maybe Oliver was my soulmate. Maybe I could accept each flaw and every mistake that came along with that.

As we wrapped up yet another night of dinner and drinks, my parents requested I play a few pieces for their guests. Oliver had been absent from dinner, saying he had business to do in town, but I saw him slip into the living room as I sat down on the piano bench. I felt as if time had brought us back to this exact place last year when the only way I knew how to express my newfound emotions was through my music. 

When I finished playing, I barely heard the applause and praise from our guests as I muttered a goodnight to my parents and headed upstairs. I felt exposed and stripped bare. Music was the easiest form of communication for me and I had hoped that the confusion and hopelessness expressed through the piece had reached through to Oliver. 

This was answered quickly, as I heard his footsteps following behind mine as we both rounded up the stairs towards my bedroom. I let him follow me inside and as I sat on my bed, he accidentally let the door slam behind him. We both looked at each other and I couldn’t hold back my laughter as a sense of déjà vu washed over both of us.

“That piece-” “Oliver-”

We spoke in unison and I let out yet another awkward laugh. I nodded for him to continue. 

“That was beautiful, Elio,” Oliver started, and hearing my name slip from his lips felt like a current of electricity running through me, “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to you playing. You’re incredible.” His gaze held mine, earnest and proud. 

“It was Chopin,” I said curtly, with an added, “I wasn’t playing it to impress you.” Even though we both know it was a lie. Of course, I was playing it for him. Playing it for him to communicate my feelings. Playing it to impress him the same way I knew I had last summer. Playing it for him because even though I was angry with him, I still wanted him to want me.

“Pro mentioned you’ll be at Julliard in the fall. You deserve it.” 

The mention of his communication with my father snapped me back to reality. A sense of betrayal washed over me once again.

“Of course he told you that. You seem to enjoy talking about me behind my back a lot, huh?” I couldn’t help but get worked up. I wanted to stay calm, to show him that I could have a mature conversation. I didn’t want to prove him right. I wasn’t some child who needed his parents to have conversations for him and I certainly was old enough to decide for myself what I wanted.

“You know not everything is about you, right?” Oliver challenged, “It wasn’t like I was calling up your dad solely to hear about how you were doing.”

“Well, it sure seems like it,” I retorted snidely, but my heart dropped. I knew I was pressing him, but part of me wanted to hear him say that he had been checking up on me. “Did you not conspire behind my back to stay here this summer? Is academia so lacking in successful professors that you’re still mooching off of my dad?”

The second the words were out, I immediately regretted them. Oliver was the most respectful summer student we ever had and I knew that he was genuinely inspired by papa. In some ways, I was jealous of their relationship. Papa engaged with Oliver in a way he never did with me. With me, he would tell me about his findings, what he was working on, and any new or exciting updates. But with Oliver, papa would truly discuss his work. He wanted Oliver's opinions, knowing he had a genuine understanding and passion for it. They shared a love for their work that I would never be privy to.

“You don’t get it, Elio!” Oliver hardly ever raised his voice the way he did now. He normally remained almost frustratingly calm, always making me feel as if I was overreacting. Even now, he was trying to stay in control of his emotions, but I could tell I had hit a nerve. “You don’t understand how lucky you were to grow up with parents as accepting as yours. My family practically disowned me because I chose to study philosophy. I decided to study philosophy at one of the best schools in the country, I’m the youngest professor at an Ivy League school, and I still wasn’t enough for them. How do you think they would react to knowing I was gay?” 

He wiped the tears from his eyes before they could even roll down his cheeks but I could feel the heaviness settle into the thick muggy air. To say Oliver had hurt me last summer would be an understatement. He had left me heartbroken and alone, with so many loose ends and questions that I couldn't find any closure to cope with. 

It was easier to take out all of my anger on him. It was even easier to take out my anger on myself. To find all of the areas I lacked in and nitpick at all of my flaws until I couldn't find a single thing I liked about myself. But there were so many factors I had never considered, so many elements at play that had never crossed my mind.

It wasn't about what was wrong with me. It wasn't about what was wrong with Oliver. It was about what was wrong with the world around us.

I slid over the smallest bit, a way of inviting him to sit down without having to say anything. He didn't hesitate and sat down next to me. I didn't move away when his leg brushed against mine.

There was so much to say, to discuss and talk over. And yet we sat in silence, taking in the company of one another and all of the happiness and pain that came with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still some angst going on, but the boys are making progress and opening up a little bit more to each other. Please let me know what you think!
> 
> I love Andre Aciman's mentions of Judaism in the book. As someone who is Jewish, it strengthened my connection to the characters and the book itself and so I wanted to include some Jewish concepts into my own fic!
> 
> So in this chapter, Elio brings up some Jewish concepts his grandmother taught him. The neshamah is the Jewish soul. It is whole before it is put into a person on Earth, but when the neshamah descends upon the Earth, it is split into two parts. One part goes to one person and the other part goes to another person. The idea is that these two half souls are meant to refind one another and become one full soul again. This is finding your soulmate which, as mentioned in the chapter, is the beshert. I think this idea really encompasses the intense connection that Elio and Oliver have and thought it would be nice to include!


	7. The Name of the Rose

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the delayed update! The quarantine blues have been pretty strong and I was having a hard time finding the motivation to write. That being said, thank you to everyone who left a comment/kudo on the last chapter!

(Oliver POV)

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell at you.” I let out a shaky breath as I settled down next to Elio on the bed. Mixed emotions run through my brain and I know if I don't keep talking, I might never get out everything I need to say.

When I face Elio after taking a moment to compose myself, his eyes are on me, patient and accepting. I know how badly I had hurt him and it almost feels wrong for him to be the one comforting me.

“Before I came here last summer, I honestly thought living like this was a dream,” Elio tilts his head, a look of confusion on his face and I force myself to continue, “Living so openly, I mean. Obviously, I know people live their lives every day as gay, but I never thought I would be able to experience it for myself.” Even after last summer, after breaking up with Laura, after fully accepting that I was still head over heels in love with Elio, saying the word gay out loud still fueled an anxiety inside of me I so badly wanted to suppress.

I think back to last summer, to the genuine joy I felt as I was so unconditionally accepted for who I was. When Professor Perlman welcomed me into the family, it was the first time in my life I hadn’t felt like the failed son.

“I think I always knew somewhere in the back of my mind,” I stumble on my words, _that I like boys_ I don’t say, “But I always suppressed it. I never had a reason to question it until I met you.” Elio’s lips twitch into a small smile and he rests his hand on my thigh, encouraging me to continue.

“When I got back to New York, I couldn’t just let you go. Our phone calls were the only thing that made last summer seem real. It was wrong of me to drag you into my mess, to keep you strung along while I was with Laura…” I trail off, struggling to find my words. Elio’s slender hand still rests on my thigh and his green eyes are wide and attentive, locked on me, only making it harder to compose my thoughts. “I’m just so sorry Elio.” I finish lamely, bowing my head.

Silence fills the room and my heart races as I wait for Elio to say something. His hand on my thigh feels like electric sparks running through my body and I can’t tell whether I want to run from it or embrace it. But I don’t dare move. All I can hope for is that one day he will forgive me for what I’ve done.

“I think we should get some sleep,” Elio suggests quietly and I nod, neither of us moving despite his suggestion. Despite my better judgment, I place my hand over his.

“Do you think you could ever forgive me?” I ask, looking into his eyes, taking in the scattered freckles along the bridge of his nose. When I look at him now, it's hard to believe I could have ever thought of anyone else. He breaks our stare and for a second I think he’s about to get up, but instead, he leans his head against my shoulder, his curls brushing up against my neck and quietly replies,

“I think I already have.”

* * *

(Elio’s POV)

It felt déjà vu, avoiding Oliver yet again after our conversation. We had spoken two days ago and yet it felt impossible to process everything he had said. Everything that he had confessed had left me confused about how to move forward.

After Oliver had left last summer, I had looked forward to our phone calls so much that sometimes I even found myself jotting down notes during the day of what I wanted to tell Oliver when we spoke. After he told me he would be proposing to Laura, I felt foolish. I had thought maybe he just pitied me, an unsociable kid who's only personal connections were through his father. And yet, Oliver professed that he had looked forward to these calls, too.

I had spent so much time after that fateful call in the winter, building up my walls, convincing myself that he didn’t care. Convincing myself that I wasn’t good enough, too young, too inexperienced, too needy.

How could we possibly move forward now? I could forgive him for his actions, could be his friend. But could I ever trust him so fully again?

The rain tumbling down outside triggered laziness to course through my body and I sat on a leather chair in papa’s office, flipping through the pages of _The Name of the Rose_. I had already read it several times, but my mind was too consumed with thoughts of Oliver to possibly digest anything new.

I hear the footsteps of papa enter the room and yet I keep my eyes trained on the pages in front of me. For the first time in my life, things are tense between my parents and I. I know they’ve been trying to give me space since Oliver’s arrival, but the original sense of betrayal I felt has slowly washed away.

To my surprise, papa sits down in the chair beside mine. I can feel his eyes on me, but the hint of my childish nature waits for him to speak. Make him work for my attention, my forgiveness.

“I hope you’re not doing research for a future murder.” He says, motioning to the book in my hands. I can’t help but smile at his joking reference to the story and I close the book without marking my page. 

“No, not quite,” I reply, “But I suppose I should take notes. You never know when someone is going to betray you.” I immediately feel bad and offer a sheepish shrug, but papa just leans back against the leather chair, worn from the sun, and offers a smile.

“Do you wish we hadn’t invited Oliver here?” Papa was many things, a brilliant scholar, a reputable leader, and a tender father, but subtlety was not a trait he was known for. Biting my lip, I shake my head. Despite the overpowering confusion, I couldn’t help but be glad Oliver was here. 

“You had asked me not to mention Oliver to you over the past couple months and I respected your wishes,” Papa starts, “But he asked about you each time we spoke, you know? When I told him about your acceptance to Julliard, I think he might have been even more excited than you were.”

Oliver had been asking about me, thinking about me, just as I had been about him. After he told me about his plans to propose to Laura, I had spent months unsuccessfully trying to get him out of my mind. Telling myself not to waste my thoughts on him. He wasn’t thinking about me, so why should I be? And yet he had been thinking about me. It was futile, but I couldn’t help but think of all the time we had wasted. 

“I know it hasn’t always been easy for you to share our home with guests, whether it be our dinner companies or summer students, but I’d like to think you’ve learned to welcome in others. Every person who has walked through these doors has a different story and your mother and I always thought it was important for you to see what was and wasn’t alike from your own life. To learn to accept others and discover the differences among us all. But not everyone is like us Elly.”

I know papa is alluding to Oliver’s upbringing; his conservative family so vastly different from my own. I would drag my feet at my parents’ request to play yet another song for their dinner guests, complain about not being able to go out with my friends when they asked me to show around a new summer student. And yet, I never had to fear their acceptance of who I was. They were open to all, to everything, and perhaps this sheltered me from truly realizing the intolerant ways of others.

“No one knows your mind as you do. But let me just finish by saying if you do choose to forgive Oliver, do so unreservedly.”

I knew that he was right. I needed to be able to fully let go and move on without holding a grudge against Oliver. It wouldn’t be fair otherwise, to hold his past actions over him.

But despite everything, the pain and confusion I had felt over the past few months, I was desperate to find a way forward. A way forward with Oliver.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slowly but surely, they will find their way back to one another....  
> Please let me know what you think and I promise it won't be as long of a wait for the next chapter!


	8. Now you know

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am SO sorry for the delay! Life has been pretty strange for me recently, as I'm sure many of you are also experiencing right now. It's been hard for me to find any semblance of routine which makes writing a bit of a challenge, but I'm hoping there won't be as much of a wait before I upload the next chapter!
> 
> Hopefully, the end of this chapter makes up for it...

The sun’s warmth spread over us fiery and commanding despite the early morning dew still fresh on the grass. Mafalda buzzed around the table, making sure every glass was refilled and plate replenished as we lazily ate breakfast. An early morning storm had woken all of us, and when the clouds parted we all trickled down to the patio slowly, unable to return to sleep.

Even Elio, never the ready morning person, was present and slouched over his hard-boiled egg. I tried to focus on my plate in front of me, but couldn’t help but glance up through my eyelashes to watch his delicate hands slice upon the top of the shell, tactful and dexterous as if floating over the keys of a piano.

I imagined him doing it for me as he did last summer, bedhead curls tickling the side of my face as he leaned over my shoulder to reach for my egg. I had felt the weight of a year of costs and consequences lift from my shoulders after our conversation the other night, as he leaned in, basking in the silence of each other’s company.

And yet once the morning came, his coldness had returned like an everlasting blizzard amid winter and the weight was present once again. 

“I was thinking of heading into town for a bit,” I mention, taking a sip of my apricot juice, “Would it be okay if I used one of the bicycles?” I direct my question toward Samuel, his face hidden behind the day’s paper.

“Of course! Elio, why don’t you go with Oliver? You can grab some more Mortadella for Mafalda at the macelleria.” Samuel offers and I just know he’s using the newspaper to hide a mischievous smile. 

“I have a composition I need to work on,” Elio mutters, pushing fruit around on his plate. His thick eyebrows are scrunched together and I can tell Samuel’s suggestion has frustrated him.

Great. We’re making backward progress.

“It’s early in the day! You can work on it after you return from town.” Samuel’s insisting makes my chest tighten and I dread the idea of Elio feeling forced to spend time with me. But Elio gives a hesitant nod, earning a triumphant huff from Samuel as he returns to his paper.

After breakfast is cleared away, we walk in hesitant silence toward the shack that houses the bicycles. Elio is two steps ahead of me and I take in his long, thin legs as they peak out from faded denim jean shorts. When he grabs the bikes out from the shed, I notice the warm vanilla skin of his biceps sporting a hint of muscle that I am certain wasn’t there last summer. The urge to kiss that spot makes me dizzy and I stand frozen in place as he passes one of the bikes to me.

“I know you didn’t really want me to tag along,” I say, cutting the silence stretching between us as I grab the bike. The seat is already adjusted for my height which I can only assume to be Anchise’s doing.

“It’s fine.” Elio mutters, hopping onto the bike and peddling away, leaving me standing alone with my confusion.

* * *

I had lost sight of Elio almost immediately upon entering Crema. Despite my obvious disappointment with our once again awkwardness, I ran the errands I needed to get done, grabbing some toiletries from the pharmacy and a coffee at the café I tended to frequent last summer.

I step out of the café and stroll lazily through the piazza. Locals wander by shopping for meats for their dinner, picking out bouquets at the florist, chatting at the bar of the café, sipping on steaming espresso. The small town hasn't changed in decades, its quaintness a testament to time and culture.

Standing in the middle of the piazza, I stare up at the Piave memorial. Despite the lack of change in the surroundings, everything feels so different from last summer. I had gotten used to Elio happily tagging along on my run-ins to town, the subtle brush of our hands as we browsed through the shops and our not so subtle kisses against the mossy alleyway walls.

_ Because I wanted you to know. _

“What’s got you lost in thought?” Elio’s voice startles me, and I whip around to see him standing right behind me, paper bag from the macelleria in hand. It’s the closest he’s voluntarily come near me since we talked the other night and my heartbeat quickens.

_ You. Us. How easily you confessed your feelings to me right in this very place last year. How I can never seem to be as brave as you. _

“Nothing, I just finished up my errands,” I reply lamely, my hand instinctively coming to the back of my neck like a nervous tic. Elio hums and takes a step closer, looking up at the monument.

“Every time I come into town and see this statue, I can’t help but think about the soldiers in the battle, you know? So many of them younger than I am now, not knowing that most of them would never return home,” His gaze leaves the monument and meets mine, green on blue. The lopsided smile so easily spread across his face is one I haven’t seen yet this summer. “I don’t want to miss what’s right in front of me when I don’t know what tomorrow brings.” 

It feels like the world slows down when I feel his hand brush softly against mine and I have to look down at our intertwined fingers to know the touch isn’t a figment of my imagination. He gives my hand a knowing squeeze.

I look up at him, desperate to take everything in. His jawline is more prominent than last summer, a hint of hair above grazes his upper lip, and the top of his head reaches above my chin.

It was clear that he had grown in the last year, the physical display of age in front of me evidence of that. And yet, the years between us felt infinitesimal when the wisdom even I did not possess left Elio's lips. 

Elio was always sharp and clever and I never questioned his obvious maturity, and yet I had let my own doubts in the way of our relationship. 

He was giving me another chance, and this time, I would take it. There would be no more  _ laters _ , empty promises whispered into the night, weak goodbyes on train station platforms.

“I’ve spent my entire life missing out on what’s right in front of me. I don’t want to do that anymore.” My confession makes my throat tighten and yet simultaneously feels as if two decades' worth of worry has been lifted from my shoulders.

“It took me some time to understand that,” Elio responds with a nod, “But I know that now.”

Warmth spreads through my chest and I can’t help myself from responding,

“Is there anything you don’t know?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess I had to let these two have their moment eventually. Let me know what you think in the comments and thanks for reading!


	9. Dancing in the dark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who commented on the last chapter! This chapter is a little bit of a filler, but it finally lets the boys enjoy one another's company. Hope you enjoy some fluff!
> 
> Oliver's POV

We bike back to the villa with easy conversation flowing between us. Once we arrive, we head towards the pool, our strides in step with one another as we continued chatting. Annella gives us a soft smile from where she’s sat at the picnic table shaded by a large, timeless oak.

The cool water tinkles my ankles as I sit on the edge, feet dangling in the pool. Scribbling edits on my most recent outline, I gaze over towards Elio who sprawled out in the grass, his pale skin gleaming as the sun beats down upon him. His eyes are closed, head bouncing to the music flowing through his earphones.

I toss my notebook to the side and shuffle over to Elio, laying down beside him. He doesn’t stir until I bump my shoulder into his, his eyes peaking open and a joking scowl crawling across his face.

“You’re distracting me,” he says, gesturing to the earphones in his ears. I pluck one out of his ear, and he swats my hand, grabbing it back.

“You’re distracting  _ me _ ,” I retort, eyeing the tiny swim shorts that hang low on his hips, “Someone might think you’re copying my style.” I joke, waving my hand over my own small, red bottoms. Elio shoves my shoulder with a laugh, but takes out his earphones and sets them aside.

“You have my undivided attention. Happy now?” He smiles at me coyly, eyebrows raised ever so slightly. It takes everything in me not to kiss the freckles littering the bridge of his nose, but I stay still. There’s no denying the tension between us, it was there even before we had made our truce earlier in the morning, and yet I knew it was still too soon. 

We had reached a good place, but for every step we took forward since my arrival, a step backward always seemed to follow. I wasn’t going to press my luck, happy to just indulge in Elio’s presence for as long as he would allow it.

“Very happy,” I respond, propping myself up on my elbow, body turned toward him. “What are you doing for the rest of the day?” Elio shifts towards me, mirroring my position.

“Marzia invited me out. She’s been seeing this new guy and asked me to tag along with them and some of his friends at Le Danzing. You should come.” Elio suggests, “Think of it as Le Danzing take two. This time instead of me pouting while watching you and Chiara dance, it’ll be me dancing with you.”

Elio bumps his shoulder into mine, wagging his eyebrows jokingly. I let out a laugh as I remember the cub we frequented last summer, picturing Elio with Marzia and me with Chiara.

“Well, then I suppose I can’t pass up the chance to right my wrongs,” I respond, “And I’d never say no to dancing with you,” I add, causing a blush to creep onto Elio’s cheeks. I can’t help but smile at the thought of the two of us wrapped around one another, dancing without a care in the world. The mere thought of it had seemed so far away only days ago. I shoot a glance over at Elio, who’s back to his sprawled out position in the grass, eyes closed once again as he listens to the music pumping through his earphones.

It seems almost too easy, falling back into our relaxed trance in heaven. I lean my head back, matching Elio’s position as I stretch out my legs, letting my hand brush over his, the warmth of the sun shielding us from worry.

* * *

When we arrived at Le Danzing, Marzia rushes up to me and throws her arms around me for a big hug. If only the two of us know the threat she whispers into my ear about  _ never hurting Elio or else _ , well it was meant to be that way.

Alessandro, the boy Marzia has been seeing seems nice enough, offering up a round of drinks for everyone upon our arrival. His friends seem a bit more pompous, immediately dispersing to scour the club for girls.

The music pumps loudly and the bright lights reflect off the sheen of sweat across Elio’s forehead. He's pressed up against me, cheeks flushed from the alcohol, and the heat of our bodies move with one another. Several rounds of drinks had followed the original that Alessandro had gotten us, reminding me of the size difference between Elio and I as he leans heavily into me, most certainly drunker than I am. 

“Think we should get another drink,” Elio mumbles into my neck and I kiss the top of his head.

“You might be right. I think you could use a drink of water.” Elio groans at my recommendation, wrapping his arms around my neck to keep me close as I try to pull away to head towards the bar.

“Just dance with me,” He whispers against my chest and I nod, unable to possibly say no to the offer.

* * *

We finally make it back to the villa a few hours later. If Elio throws up in the bushes against the side of the house, no one has to know. When he’s emptied the contents of his stomach, he crawls into my arms with an  _ M’sorry _ and I let him wrap his legs around my waist and carry him up to his room.

Once we’re upstairs, I help Elio brush his teeth and strip off his clothes, leaving him in just a tight pair of boxer briefs. I steal glances at his beautifully pale abdomen as I help him to bed.

“Cm’ here,” Elio slurs, making grabby hands as I pull the covers up to his chest. He grabs my wrist and pulls me in, and I’m surprised at how much strength he has given his current intoxicated state.

“Elio, you’re drunk,” I use my free hand to gently unclasp his hands from my wrist. The pout on his face is too cute and he looks so young, melting into the fluffy comforters around him.

“Just lay with me until I fall asleep,  _ please, _ ” It sounds almost as if he’s begging and my chest tightens at the request. I kick off my shoes and slowly climb onto the bed next to him, staying on top of the covers to keep some distance. 

We had rushed into things so fast last summer, diving headfirst into something we didn’t know was greater than both of us. When it ended, it had left us both empty, hollowed out, and desperate for something to fill an impossibly deep void.

I had no intention of letting this end, but I knew it couldn't hurt to be cautious, taking things slow and steady.

Elio presses his back up to my chest and I drape my arms around him, gently pulling him close. I can feel the rise and fall of his chest as I graze my hands over his arm. In what feels like only a few moments, our breathing syncs and we become one as sleep takes over both of us. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They're cute, aren't they? Please let me know what you think!


	10. Find Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all!
> 
> When I first started this story, the concept was to have the boys briefly reconnect in Crema and then mainly take place in New York City. Well, the story seems to have a mind of its own and has slowly became more about the boys process of reconnecting and re-finding one another after their time apart. They're almost at that place. That being said, if you're interested in what their life in New York would bring, please let me know! I'll proceed with more depending on what everyone's interest is.
> 
> Here's Elio's POV:

The brightness flooding through the half-open curtains causes my head to ache before I even open my eyes. I let out a groan that’s stifled, my face smushed up against a warm, smooth surface.  


  
Oliver.  


  
I slowly blink my eyes open, wincing at the pain searing through my head. Glimpses of the night before come to me as I shyly glance up at Oliver’s face. He’s laying on his back, one arm wrapped around me, allowing me to burrow into his side, the other tossed over his head. His eyes are closed, still asleep, and I allow myself time to look over him, take him in.

  
The veins that run up his arm, flexed over his head. A stubble starting to push its way to the surface just above his lip. His lips, a pinkish-red hue, parted ever so slightly in his sleep.  


  
I want to kiss those lips.  


  
A short-lived panic washes away when I see he’s still fully clothed despite myself only clad in a pair of tight boxer briefs. Nothing happened that I couldn’t remember, the drunken haze of one too many celebratory shots of limoncello – for what we were celebrating I couldn’t remember – taking most of the night away with it.  


  
Or did something happen?

  
Before I can fully rack my brain, trying to account for the lost memories of the night, Oliver begins to stir. Still half perched over him from where I was examining his lips, I freeze and the panic makes its way back.  


  
“Mm, good morning,” He lets out quietly. His eyes blink open, meeting mine, and a smile spreads across his lips, showing their fullness and the shiny white pearls they cover. If he’s aware of my nerves, he doesn’t show it. A large hand comes up and pushes a loose curl behind my ear.

  
I lower myself back down, the side of my face once again finding its place in the crook of Oliver’s arm. I manage to mumble a good morning back to him that comes out more like a croak. This gains a laugh from Oliver, and my brain must know where it came from him because the noise of his laughter doesn’t disturb my headache.

  
“How are you feeling?” he offers, rolling over to face me, stretching out his legs in the process. Oliver's effort to turn over forces my face to be revealed from where it was carefully hidden in his side and he gets a full glimpse of my disheveled hair and tired eyes.

  
“Like Marzia convinced me to take one too many shots last night,” I moan, tossing my arm over my face in exasperation. Another laugh escapes Oliver’s lips and I think of how I could listen to his laughter for the rest of my life.

  
“More like _you_ convinced everyone to take one too many shots last night,” Oliver responds, “You’re surprisingly strong for your size, you know? I tried to physically stop you from drinking and it was a harder task than I imagined.” I don’t have to check a mirror to know a blush has spread across my cheeks, feeling the heat pool up to my face in embarrassment.

  
When Marzia had asked us to go out with her, I had been nervous about how it would go with Oliver. Easing some of the nerves with alcohol seemed like a simple solution, but clearly my plan had taken a turn for the worse as I couldn’t seem to piece together most of the night.

  
Whether it’s the blush that won’t leave my face or the thick silence that fills the air after his comment, but Oliver seems to register my discomfort, his eyebrows knitting together.

  
Before he can fully get out his, “Is everything okay?” I blurt out a frantic and jumbled, “Did something happen between us last night?”

  
I look down, too embarrassed to maintain eye contact with Oliver. His comments about my age, being too young to know what I want, ring through my head. The first night we go out and I couldn’t even keep myself together. How very mature of me.  


I can feel his fingers brush against my chin as they slowly nudge my face up to look at him once again. His eyes find mine. They're soft and still filled with sleep, no judgment in his gaze.

  
“You asked me to stay with you while you fell asleep and I must have dozed off. Nothing happened, Elio.” His voice is gentle, a change from the normally booming baritone he tends to speak with.

  
“Okay, good! I just wanted to make sure,” I let out a sigh of relief, my embarrassment over the foggy memories of last night beginning to fade. I’m ready to move on from the discussion, ready to let go of the mortification I harbor when I catch a glimpse of a frown on Oliver’s face before it morphs into something unreadable.

  
“Right… yeah. Obviously not when you were that drunk,” Oliver responds diverting his eyes, with a quickly added, “Or nothing at all, if you don’t want.” I realize the miscommunication that's taken place as soon as the words leave his mouth and can’t help but let out a laugh. It seems absurd for him to think I didn’t crave his touch, his kiss. Didn’t dream about him making love to me.

  
We were still finding one another. Tip-toeing around, feeling things out, peeking into the nooks and crannies of one another, worried we’d find a place we didn’t belong or couldn’t fit into. We weren’t yet comfortable enough to allow ourselves to be as open and in-sync as we once were.

  
Copying his actions from just a few moments before, I lift his chin, forcing his gaze to meet mine. When I find his eyes, it’s difficult to read the expression they hold, but I know soon enough each glance, each small movement, each noise will be understood between us the way it once was.

  
“I do want it, Oliver. All of it.” And before his mouth can even fully turn into a smile, I lean in, closing the small space between us. When my lips brush against his, with the morning light seeping in through the half-open curtain glowing on us like a soft spotlight, I have no doubt we’ll always find our way back to each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you for reading!


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